Can't We Be Seventeen?
by satans-cheese-curds
Summary: It's Heathers the musical just written out as a story, with all of the same drama we know and love. But with an alternate ending too, after all, wouldn't it be nice to have one less death on our minds? First fanfiction, so please please review but please no hate... Characters appearances and (somewhat) personalities are altered to fit OCs, but names and main premise are the same.
1. Chapter 1

**Veronica's POV:**

 _September 1, 1989_

I pause, my pencil hovering over the blank page of my worn diary, unsure of what I should write. Typically it all comes pretty easily to me. My thoughts can flow from my mind, through my pencil, and onto the pages, putting my private mind on display, letting me read exactly what goes through my head to trying to make some sense of all of the shit. But today, the first day of my senior year of high school, there seems to be a block there. I release a heavy sigh and glance up, looking from my seat on the bottom step of a crowded staircase into the bustling hallway. Kids push past one another, freshmen rushing to class, trying to duck between the towering seniors who seem to find it better to loiter in the halls than to actually get to class. But who am I to talk? _I'm_ the one sitting on the staircase staring at people. Chatter fills the halls, blurring into a deafening sound, with only a few distinguishable words able to be heard. "Freak!" Is yelled from somewhere behind me.

"Slut!" Comes from far off to my left.

"Burn-out!"

"Bug-eyes!"

"Poser!"

"Lardass!"

All of these ring through the halls and find their way to my ears. I've had my fair share of name calling, we all have here. It's just a part of being a high schooler. An invisible, nerdy high schooler in my case. I tuck my knees closer to my chest in an effort to take up even less room on the stairs, also to avoid getting run into. A scrawny boy I've seen in a few of my classes today trips down the stairs, landing a few feet away from me, followed closely by a mob of football players, jostling each other, their laughter at the boy echoing around the packed hall. I shake my head slightly at the casual act, disgusted by group of jocks, and look back down at my blank page, which seems to stare back at me. After a moment's hesitation, I pick my pencil up again and scribble down a few words.

 _Dear Diary, I believe I'm a good person. I think that there's good in everyone._

I scoff at my own childish statements, and run my fingers through my hair, trying to keep it from falling in my face. With a sigh, I rest my head in my hands, fiddling with the end of my multicolored scarf, looking past my diary at a perfectly ordinary patch of flooring. Am I good person? Is anyone in high school really a good person? We used to be. With nostalgia warming my body, I remember being around all of the same kids that walk the halls of Westerburg High today, but back when we were all pure and innocent. Spurred on by my sudden pull down memory lane, I write out another sentence.

 _I look around at these kids that I've known practically all my life and ask myself: What happened?_

"Wouldn't we all like to know?" I mumble to myself, closing my diary and slipping it into my bag with the rest of my school supplies. I stand up from my small spot to try and make my way through the throng Of students crowding around the cafeteria doors. Everyone is being shoved every which way. It's all a domino effect; one person is pushed into another, who then gets backed into someone else, until we're all shifting in one big fluid pack of teenagers. I pull my oversized sweater tighter around myself, and keep my head down, letting my hair fall into my face, trying not to draw any unwanted attention to myself. What happened to the days of elementary school? The days of nap time, eating paste, baking cookies, and getting chased for fun, not out of malice, or when we would laugh, but not on someone else's expense? But ultimately, we grew up, we realized that the world can't be made out of sunshine and smiles. So we all turned, most of us for the worse, pushing around the people that used to be our closest friends. Why? I can't say, because I don't understand it myself. I don't understand why we instinctively have to separate into a social hierarchy, some rising to the top, while the rest of us flounder at the bottom, trying desperately to just stay alive.

Lost in my thoughts, I ran right into someone, earning myself a sharp reply of disgust. Embarrassment takes over my body, making my cheeks flush. "Oh, sorry…" I manage, as I duck away from him. More all too familiar phrases are shouted across the halls, filling the minds of anyone who hears them with paranoia that it's directed at them; I'm no exception. Every word I hear will pile up in my mind and rattle around, convincing me that whatever they're saying is true. Why wouldn't it be? Of course it's true, otherwise they wouldn't be saying it, right? I look down to the floor, trying to tune out my own mind. Loser, Short-Bus, Stuck-Up, Hunchback, White Trash, Homo, Cripple. If you can think it, and it's vile, it's more than likely being said and heard here. It feels as though Westerburg isn't like the other high schools with our social cliques. Instead of existing in a somewhat symbiotic relationship, it feels as though when you walk through those doors, you've been admitted to the Thunderdome, a place where everyone is poised to fight at any moment and willing to step on you to get where they want. But, this is the last year of being confined to high school with the assholes I've known all my life.

As long as I can make it to June I'll be alright, because then maybe I'll be off to Harvard, Duke, Brown, or maybe Stanford. I sigh wistfully, letting my mind wander to what life will be like in college, an elusive paradise at this point, leaving all of this high school shit behind. I won't have to dodge mobs in the hallways, and worry about making it to my next class without getting shoved or insulted. No, instead, I'll spending my time the way I want to, studying in smoky French cafés, surrounded by people who are all like me. Dreaming of a wonderful future is all I can do to fight the dark fantasies of seeing this hellhole burn to the ground, along with all of the misery high schoolers have that have been selling up inside these walls. Drawing myself away from those thoughts, I once again look around at all of kids walking the same mindless pattern we have for the past three years to the cafeteria, and wonder if things could ever go back to the way they were when we young. I want to believe that they could, I know that life can be beautiful again. I often find myself hoping and praying that one day I'll wake up and come to school, and it will all be peaceful. Jocks will sit and laugh with, rather than at, all of the nerds, and we can all exist in harmony.

We've all gone through so many changes to get where we are now, so what's to say that we can't change again, but this time for the better? Instead of clawing at each other until we bleed, we can heal what's happened and be at peace. I'm barely able to stifle my laughter at my own thoughts, that are starting to sound more and more like something you would find on an inspirational sign at Hallmarks. I'm so consumed in my own pathetic wishes, that I once again, walk right into the person in front of me.

"Ow!" He exclaims sharply, turning to glare at me. Well, it seems my impossible wish at peace won't be coming true today.

"Are you okay?" I stammer, trying to show that I was at least sorry for running into him.

"Get away, _nerd!"_ He practically spits, turning away from me.

"Oh, Okay…" I mumble distastefully to myself. Considering I'm always hoping for the prospect of peace, it doesn't really make sense that I wouldn't mind it if at least half of our school disappeared. It would at least get me up from the bottom into where the attention I get isn't just biting remarks, but maybe praise, or even envy. A larger part of me than I care to admit is hooked on that idea. "Alas," I mutter, "You're destined to be a nobody for the rest of your time here." And now I'm talking to myself. I let out a short laugh at this. It's no wonder why I'm taunted. But, only one hundred and seventy nine more days until I blow this town. With this thought running through my head to give me hope, I work my way through the crowd to the lunch line and grab a tray, as if I'll actually be eating the food. For the past three years, I practically never eat lunch, and I don't expect this year to be any different. With all of the gorgeous popular girls floating through the school, it's one of the things I can do if I have any hope of looking like them.

I'm jarred from these thoughts as a hand comes down on my tray, smacking it out of my hands forcefully to the ground. An obnoxious drawl comes from the mass of muscle in front of me known as Ram Sweeney towering over me. "Oops…." I can feel myself shrinking away, knowing that it's all I can do to keep myself away from further pestering, but somewhere, some stupidly bold corner of my mind opens my mouth to speak.

"It's incredible how you've only been linebacker for three years, yet this is your eighth of year of smacking lunch trays, and being a huge _dick."_ As soon as these words are said, I instantly feel regret wash over me. Ram balls his fists and steps closer to me, causing me to try and back into the person next to me.

"What did you say to me, _skank?"_ He growls. I wince at the insult, even though it's nothing I haven't heard before.

"N-Nothing!" Im able to stutter, trying to keep him from retaliating. It seems as though I'm not worth his time seeing as he leaves without another word. Either that, or he's used up his allotted vocabulary for the day, and needs time for his brain to catch up. I can't help but smile a little at my insulting thought, considering it serves him right, but then I catch myself and sigh. I preach, at least in my mind, and to my diary, about peace and acceptance, and all of that other crap, yet I'm just as guilty as the next person when it comes to seeking personal gain. But is it so bad to still want things to be easy like they were in the past? Even if you don't necessarily deserve it? Once again, I'm lost in my thoughts, and only pulled back to reality by a tapping on my shoulder.

Startled, and afraid that it may be Ram or someone else trying to ruin my life, I let out a small yell, only to realize it was my best friend since diapers, practically, Martha Dunnstock. I sigh and relax, knowing that it was just a friend who was trying to get my attention. "Hey, Martha." I greet her as I smile, picking up my lunch tray from the floor.

"Hey…" She responds, trying to help me with my stuff. I'm incredibly grateful for Martha, she's been by side ever since we were kids, and I couldn't imagine trying to get through high school without her. She's sweet, probably the only innocent person left in this school, but because of that, she gets picked on left and right. "We still on for movie night?" She asks, hope apparent in her voice, once I've gotten my bearings again. I smile more, movie night is one of our best traditions; just the two of us holed up at one of our houses watching movies. Sure it doesn't sound all that special, but it's an escape from our shitty reality for a while. And anytime that makes this town disappear is time that I cherish.

"Yeah!" I respond brightly, shifting my supplies and lunch tray so I can nudge her playfully. "You're on Jiffy Pop detail." She cracks a smile and nods.

"I rented the Princess Bride!" I chuckle a little. I love Martha, seeing as she's my best friend, but she hasn't quite caught up to most of us in high school. She still believes that we're all the same as we were in kindergarten, and there's nothing wrong with that, hell, I wish that we were all the way we were in kindergarten, but it tends to get her targeted specifically.

"Again? Wait, don't you have that memorized by now?" I ask her, trying to keep my tone light, I don't want her to start thinking I'm going to hate it if we watch it. She sighs, slumping into herself, clearly dejected.

"What can i say?" She says to me, the misery clear in her voice. "I'm just a sucker for a happy ending…." The sad hope that drips from her words makes my heart clench for her. It's not a bad thing to want a happy ending, and it's not her fault that there really aren't happy endings in the world. Her positivity and endearing innocence has helped me make it this far in high school, and I just don't want to see that crushed out of her, it's what makes Martha, Martha. Before I'm able to respond to her, a voice jeers from a little ways away in the lunch line,

"Martha Dumptruck! Wide load!" Followed by the quarterback, Kurt Kelly running up and slamming her lunch tray from her hands. My blood boils, why must everyone try to pick on Martha, she's done literally nothing to anyone. But that doesn't seem to stop them. Kurt stands in front of us, laughing his ass off. He may be the smartest guy on the football team, which gets him a lot of attention here, but to me, that's the equivalent of being the tallest dwarf. Something inside me draws me out of myself and closer to Kurt and another, incredibly stupid, part of me causes me to yet again open my mouth to confront him.

"Hey! Pick that up, right now!" I snap, crossing my arms. _What the hell am I doing?_ I'm practically begging to be beat up. Kurt turns to me, having to look down, seeing as I'm one of the shortest kids in our grade.

"I'm sorry, are you actually talking to me?" He drawls, leaning closer, trying to intimidate me. I'd like to say that it isn't working, but the fact that my hands are shaking would betray that statement. Ram comes up behind him, his stupid glare matching that of his friends.

"My buddy Kurt here just asked you a question." He says, stating the obvious. I gulp and accept the fact that I'm going to keep talking and die, but at least it'll be after I try to put this jerk in his place.

"Yes, I am. I want to know what gives you the right to pick on my friend." I have no idea where all this confidence is coming from, but I can feel myself starting to lose it, so I muster out a few more statements. "You're a high school has-been waiting to happen, a future gas station attendant!" Oh, I wish I could learn to keep my mouth shut. I close my eyes tightly, waiting for a scathing remark or a shove to send me into the people around me. Instead, Kurt points to a spot on my forehead and says in the most mundane voice,

"You have a zit right there." Which of course sends everyone around us into fits of laughter. I duck my head down, and grab Martha, who has by now picked up her lunch tray and gotten situated again, and drag her out of the line, away from the laughing gaggle Of students, crowding around Kurt and Ram as if they're a bunch of heroes as opposed to assholes, to our place at a table in the corner, away from everyone else. I weave through the crowd, trying hard not to have either of us bump into anyone. Kids are sitting and standing practically everywhere, the aimless chattering becoming a roar in the confined space of the cafeteria. It sends an odd feeling through your body, knowing that each one of us is struggling and living such a complex life, yet by just passing by, you barely get a glimpse of it. But, through all of the jokes and the conversations, desperation is thick in the air, desperation for hope, a reason to live, to turn back time. Each and every one of us is desperate for something, and yet no one ever does anything about it. When we finally reach our table, after what felt like a harrowing trek through the wilderness known as a high school cafeteria, Martha sits down across from me.

"Thanks, Ronnie, for standing up for me back there…." She hugs herself a bit and looks down, her face a mix of sadness and shame. "I wish I could stand up to people the way you do, I'm sorry…" I rest by arms on the table and look at her. "Hey, it's okay, Martha. You're my best friend, and they shouldn't be picking on you… Besides, it's not your fault I can't shut up." She looks up at me a bit and musters a small smile. She's about to say something else, but the previously closed cafeteria doors are thrown open. Everyone knows who's about to walk through these doors, which at this moment seem like gates to heaven, so we collectively turn to look, and the chatter dies from a roar to a whisper around the room. Completely abandoning my conversation with Martha, I turn to face the doors, leaning out of my seat with intense desperation to just see them.

The Heathers.

As if carried by some ethereal breeze, the three float into the cafeteria, gliding easily through the crowd as they separate to create a path. First inside is Heather McNamara. Her eyes flit around around nervously, taking in all of the people watching. I can see the effort it takes to draw herself up and walk with her head held high; her hands ball into the yellow fabric of her jacket as she does so. She's the head cheerleader, and on top of that, her dad is loaded from selling engagement rings. A status like that is what keeps her in the Heathers, I'd imagine. Her curly brown hair bounces along as she walks in almost perfect ringlets, and while she may not be considered as "hot" as the other Heathers, she's still very beautiful, and I still want to be her.

Following close behind, is Heather Duke. I, and most of the other people in the cafeteria subconsciously shrink away as her cold glare sweeps the cafeteria. Duke runs the yearbook, and doesn't have any discernible personality, except for the fact that she's the cruelest of all of the Heathers, and I did hear around the school that her mom paid for implants. Though I'm not one to listen to gossip, but if it has to do with the Heathers, everyone will find out eventually. With a quick flick of her hand, Duke flips her long black hair behind her shoulder, and walks up next to McNamara, who also seems to shrink away from the girl clad in dark green.

Finally, after a moment of the entire room holding its breath, Heather Chandler walks in, drawing out a sigh everyone has been holding in. I sit up more, desperate to see her, the almighty, a pinnacle of beauty, her gorgeous red hair falling to her waist, unlike my short ginger hair that just goes past my shoulders, and the tight red blazer that hugs her figure. A hot mix of jealousy and desire burns in my stomach as I see her. She's the one that everyone wants to be, and I'm no exception to that. She is a mythic bitch. As they walk away, joining the other popular kids in the lunch line, the cafeteria starts to breathe again and the conversations resume. I rest my head in my hand and stare past Martha, into some alternate dimension where I'm no longer a nobody, but a Heather. They're solid teflon, never bothered, never harassed, it doesn't seem quite fair does it? They get to relax at the top, letting us peasants worship them and kiss their feet, willing to do their bidding at a moment's notice so long as we can get their attention. I would give anything to be like them.

The rest of lunch continues on the way it has for the past three years, everyone settling into their normal routine, whether it's talking with your friends, harassing nerds, sitting alone, smoking in the back, it all gets done just like clockwork, the way it has been since we were freshmen. When the bell rings to head to our classes, I bid Martha goodbye and walk out, following the sea of seniors trying to get wherever they need to go. But, I get held up in the crowd, and because of that, the bell rings before I'm able to get to my classroom. Just my luck, it's the first day, and I'm already late. With a heavy sigh, I continue making my way to my room, pulling out a piece of paper and start writing myself a hall pass in the principals handwriting. Just as I'm finishing, I hear voices coming from a nearby bathroom. My curiosity getting the best of me, I shove my forged hall pass into my pocket and walk closer, barely poking my head into the doorway. The scene that's unfolding in front of me is definitely one that I would never think would happen. The Heathers are standing in front of an obviously upset Ms. Fleming, who seems to be chewing them out about skipping class.

"Heather wasn't feeling well…" Chandler says smoothly, flashing a sweet smile towards the teacher. "We're helping her…" Never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine actually being this close to the Heathers aside from class. Yes, you may call me ridiculous, but at our school, the Heathers are practically royalty, and nobody gets to just hang around them, and definitely not without their permission. I hear Ms. Fleming barely contain her obvious satisfaction at getting these three in trouble.

"Not without a hall pass, you're not." As if someone flipped a switch in my brain, I spring out of my stupor from seeing the Heathers and into action, furiously scribbling a hall pass onto any sheet of paper I have. If I get the Heathers out of trouble, then they'll have to take at least a little bit of notice in me. Besides, this may be my only chance of ever getting to talk to them. "Week's detention." Ms. Fleming says with a sense of finality. Before any logic can catch up with my mind, or before my stomach can twist into any more knots, I take a deep, step into the bathroom, and clear my throat, gaining the attention of all three standing there. I can still back out at this moment, play everything off, and just go to class. Or, I can help out the most popular girls in school, the ones that I have envied and longed to be for years.

"Actually, Ms. Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass…." I'm shocked as to how confident and steady I sound, despite my heart thumping loudly in my ears. I show her my forged piece of paper. "Yearbook committee." She analyzes the note quickly, and through gritted teeth responds, barely casting a glance at the Heathers.

"I see you're all listed…. Hurry up and get where you're going." And with that, she turns and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with the three most powerful girls in school, all of which are staring me down, making me shrink into myself and suddenly find the floor the most fascinating thing in the world. Why did I think this was a good idea? As if they'd actually take in interest in me. But the idea was just too tempting to let go and my will to work my way up from the bottom of the food chain spurred me along in my ridiculous endeavor. My heart practically stops as Heather Chandler, the queen of Westerburg High School starts talking. To me. In fact, she walks over to me and plucks the note I wrote out from my hands.

"This is an excellent forgery." She says after looking over the note and tucking it into her jacket. "Who _are_ you?" Heather Chandler wants to know who _I_ am? A lowlife on the school's social map? Quickly looking up into her piercing amber eyes, I stutter out my name.

"Uh, Veronica. Sawyer." I stick out my hand before realizing how stupid that is, and drop it to my side. I can feel my entire body overheating as embarrassment sets in. This is my one chance. I already have my foot in the door, the door to heaven, and there's no way I'm letting it close now, not after years of being tormented. "I crave a boon." I say, sounding stupid even to myself.

"What boon?" The exasperation drips from her voice. I'm already losing her attention, it's now or never. The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I get a chance to think them over.

"Um, let me sit at your table? At lunch. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think you tolerate me, they'll leave me alone…." I trail off, realizing how pathetic my plea sounds. Chandler glances at the others and begins laughing, Duke quickly follows suit, sending me an amused glare as if I'm some dog that's been trying to chase its own tail all day and it's finally getting annoying, and McNamara seems to only be half-heartedly giggling along. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see her sending me an apologetic look. My face burns with shame. Of course they're laughing at me. I'm a tiny bird that just asked to fly with eagles. Hell, I'd be laughing at myself too if I wasn't about to die of embarrassment. But, once again, my tongue gets the better of me, as more words begin to spill out before I can at least try to filter them. "Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes." This gets their attention again, and cuts off the laughter. A feeling of immense pride washes over my body, seeing as I just got them to listen to me again. Never in all of my years would I think I'd possibly be striking a deal with the Heathers.

"What about prescriptions?" McNamara pipes up. I'm about to respond when I'm cut off by Duke snapping at her.

"Shut up, Heather." And with that, the small form of McNamara shrinks behind her and stays silent. Before I can think anymore about that, Duke strides up to me and takes my chin in her hand, forcing me to look up at her. Ice blue eyes roam across my face, and I can feel her analyzing all of my features. I just only hope she can't hear my heart practically beating out of my chest, or feel my body shaking. It was one thing getting the Heathers out of trouble, another asking them if I could sit with them, but now Heather Duke is actually touching my face and judging it. Call me strange, but this day was slowly getting better and better. "For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure." She says matter of factly, letting go of my chin and stepping to the side. I can hardly believe my luck today, considering Heather Duke just gave me what was almost a compliment, I think. McNamara shuffles over to me too, and also studies my face, hazel eyes meeting mine for a second as she gives me a small smile.

"And a symmetrical face." She states, tracing down my face with her hand. "If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves, that's very important." I feel as though I'm on the top of the world right now. Even if I think that I'm complete shit, and I do, the Heathers have managed to find a little bit right about me, and that's more than I could ever do myself.

"Of course, you could stand to lose a few pounds." Duke chimes in again. I look down at myself, the feeling of euphoria starting to drain. As if that's something I didn't know, and absolutely hated. My spirits lift again, though, as Chandler, who hasn't said anything yet, walks over to me, a small smirk growing across her face. She too looks me over, and I try not to fidget under her gaze, seeing as I've wanted to be her for as long as we've been in school together.

"You know, this could be beautiful…" She muses slightly, walking around me. "With a bit of mascara and maybe some lip gloss…" I glance to the others and see them smiling slightly too. This can't actually be happening, can it? Am I finally getting my chance to be at the top? Chandler stops in front of me, drawing Duke and McNamara with her. "Get this girl some blush, try to cover up a few of those freckles, and Heather, I'll need your brush… Let's make this beautiful." She finishes with a small shrug. "Okay?"

"Okay!" I respond almost immediately, happiness spreading through my body, giving me a sense of warm satisfaction. My risk has paid off, and after years of hoping and praying, I'm finally becoming a Heather.

Before I can even realize what's happening, all thoughts of getting to class abandoned due to my new attention from the Heathers, I'm standing in front of the mirror, as McNamara brushes out my hair and pins some of it away from my face, and Duke takes out an assortment of makeup, most of which I can hardly recognize, and starts applying to various areas of my face. Chandler stands back, arms crossed, supervising them as they alter my appearance. Through the process, I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror. I don't look too different from the way I was before, it just all seems more refined. My hair is combed out and smoothed down around my shoulders, and as for my face, my obnoxious freckles have been hidden for the most part, though I have so many it would take much more to truly cover them up, but aside from that, I look almost the same, it's just the green in my eyes seems to pop more, and any blemishes are now smooth. I can't help but smile, seeing myself in this new light. I've always been cast to the side, dismissed, and thought of as ugly, Hell, I hated myself for that very reason, but this girl staring back at me from the mirror is everything I've ever wanted to be.

My daydream has finally become a reality. I didn't notice that Chandler had walked out of the bathroom in the midst of all of this, but now she's striding back in, holding a folded up blue outfit. With a small smile I never would have imagined being directed at me she says, "Try this on. McNamara wore it once before we realized yellow was her color… Though it should suit you…" She places the outfit in my arms, and I can feel the disbelief I've been feeling throughout all of this register on my face as I stare down at the outfit in my arms, and glance up at McNamara for permission to be wearing something she once did. I'm returned with a small nod and a warm smile.

"Go ahead." She tells me sweetly, gesturing to one of the bathroom stalls. My body responds despite the stupor my mind is currently in as my feet carry me to the stall. I quickly take off the scarf, oversized sweater, and unflattering dress I was previously wearing and don my new clothes: a crisp white button-up shirt, a dark blue blazer that hugs the bit of a figure I didn't even know I had, and a light gray skirt that comes down above the middle of my thighs, definitely shorter than anything else I've worn, but it makes me feel good, like one of them. I pull my shoes back on over the knee high dark blue socks and walk out of the stall, collecting my old clothes in my arms. As I look in the mirror, I stop abruptly, just barely recognizing my own reflection. I'm speechless as I stare at this new girl that seems to be standing in the exact spot I am.

"Well, would you look at that…" Heather Chandler's voice pierces my trance, making me smile slightly and nod along. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a large brooch, a beautiful blue jewel gleaming in the center. Chandler leans down, her face inches from mine. She attaches the brooch just under the collar of my shirt. "This is a privilage, don't forget. Make one wrong move, and you lose everything…." She whispers before pulling away and putting a sweet smile back on. "Good work, ladies!" I turn towards the mirror once more, taking in the complete new Veronica. For the first time in my life, thanks to the most popular girls in school who seem to have adopted me for now, pulled me from rock bottom and onto the throne where they've always resided, I feel beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Holy crap, this is awesome! Thank you so much for reading chapter one and actually wanting to continue to chapter two. I'm not to sure when updates will be coming because we get busy with school and other things, but hopefully soon! Once again, thank you for spending time to read the story my best friend and I have been working on, we really hope you enjoy it! And if you do, feel free to review to let us know what you liked, or didn't like as much...**

Chapter 2:

 **Veronica's POV**

 _Dear Diary, It's been three weeks since I became friends with the Heathers! Well "friends" isn't exactly the right word, it's more like they're just people I work with, and our job is being popular and shit._

I smile to myself, a giddy feeling of bliss warming my body as I slide my diary and pencil away, looking around the hall. The same hall that I've been walking through for the past three years of my life, yet it seems like alien terrain from the new vantage point I have from being pulled onto the throne of Westerburg High; it's not as crowded, loud, or daunting as it once was. It's incredible how quickly your way of life can change in just three short weeks. My days of ducking through the halls with my head down, trying desperately to not be hit or insulted are over, seeing as I now can walk with my head high, and a newfound aura of confidence I can feel myself putting off. Now, whether or not I actually have that much confidence is most definitely debatable. Yes, I've been made beautiful by the Heathers, in fact I can still hardly wrap my mind around the fact that some heads will turn my way in the halls, but underneath the clothes and the makeup, I'm still me, and that "me" is the one that has been at the very bottom of the social hierarchy for the longest time.

I can still feel the weight of that trying to pull me back to rock bottom, because deep down, I know that I know that's where I really belong. But I can't let that stop me. No, I _won't_ let it stop me. I have dreamed of the time I would finally get out of the muddy bottom of high school, and into the crystal waters of popularity, and I'm not going to let it all go to waste just because I may not be able to handle a little change in my life. The entire experience so far has been utterly euphoric, I haven't felt this great, this happy, in years. It truly seems like I'm on top of the world. Only as the warning bell rings do I realize how lost in my thoughts I was and I even started to wander aimlessly in the hall, which immediately makes me glance around, making sure I hadn't run into someone out of my own carelessness, and slowly shrink into myself a little, afraid of what may happen if I did. But now I notice that I had not hit anyone, in fact other people seem to be trying not to run into _me._

A small pang of empathy and guilt radiates in my chest, as I know full well how awful it is to have to figure out the confusing, ever changing maze that is a high school hallway. But overriding that is the idea of being able to walk freely in the halls, at your own pace, going in the direction you need to be not being pushed every which way by everyone bigger than you, that my mind can finally start to entertain. I relax and hold my head up again, mustering up all of the confidence I have, or at least pretend that I have, to keep myself walking down the hall, which seems significantly less crowded. I suppose things don't always appear as they really are if you're able to look down at it as opposed to being one of the ones struggling through. A small smile spreads across my face as I realize that, and even the smallest change, such as being able to let my mind go off to other places while walking, means so much to me now, seeing as I couldn't possibly let anything of the sort happen a little less than a month ago. Before I'm able to make my way into the cafeteria, I hear a voice behind me, one that I haven't heard in a while, but I still enjoy hearing. "Hey, Veronica!" I turn around to see Martha standing behind me, her familiar smile that holds just enough sadness for it to be seen greets me.

"Hey…" I respond, realizing how little I've seen of her in the past few weeks.

"You really do look beautiful these days…" She tells me, her smile unwavering, but the amount of sadness increases slightly, which causes my stomach to clench uncomfortably. I look down at myself, I'm wearing the same outfit Heather Chandler had given me the day in the bathroom, though of course after that she and McNamara helped me update my closet to fit more with them seeing as I couldn't wear my over sized sweaters and scarfs anymore, now that people actually knew who I was.

"Aw, thank you, but it's still the same me underneath…" And a part of me hates that. I want to be able to shed my old skin and completely get on board with my new ways, but I know I'm never going to be able to shake my feelings of inferiority and knowing that I'll always be the pariah in the group. After all, they're the Heathers, and no matter how hard I try, I'll still be a Veronica. Though, maybe that's a good thing. I've seen the way they treat some people, even each other, and I don't really want to be a part of that with them. Just as long as I don't have to be at the bottom, I'll live. But, as Martha speaks again, I can feel a little piece of my heart break off, the one with her name on it.

"A-Are you sure…?" At that moment, guilt hits me like a tidal wave, washing away any sense of satisfaction I had in me, as I realize how much of a shit friend I've been to Martha. I haven't talked to her in what now feels like ages, I've skipped out on our movie nights, stopped hanging out with her, and practically cut her out of my life, without even realizing it. I let out a long sigh, feeling my pathetic supports of self-importance crumble as I sink into myself again, stuttering out what I'm sure is the worst apology for this.

"Oh… Look, I'm really sorry that I flaked on movie night a little while ago… I've just had a lot going on…" I can hear how awful this sounds as I'm saying it, and I silently curse myself for making up excuses to try and protect myself. I don't deserve that, I shouldn't be protected right now, because I've repeatedly let down my best friend, and I know that I'm the reason for the lingering sadness in not only her smile, but her voice and presence in general. Before I can try and amend what I was saying to her, she jumps in to respond.

"I get that! You're with the Heathers now! That's exciting!" It pains me seeing her trying to brush it all off like it's nothing, despite the obvious fact that it's not. Maybe I actually am more like the Heathers than I thought. You would think that after all these years of worshiping them, that a thought like that would excite me, and I would too, but all I can feel is a pit of dread churning in my stomach. I force a tight laugh, trying to keep it all light, and trying to keep myself from delving too far into the pit of self-hate.

"Whatever, a promise is still a promise-" I try to tell her, but I'm interrupted by a voice that makes both me and Martha jump.

"Veronica! Heather says to haul ass to the table. Pronto." Heather Duke sneers, glaring at Martha, who in turn shrinks away from her, looking as though Duke may hurt her. Though after spending more time with the girl who scares the shit out of most of the school, I wouldn't be surprised if she actually did hurt Martha. But, she doesn't meet our expectations and instead struts back off towards the cafeteria, only turning to send me an icy glare when I don't immediately follow her. I would much rather stay and try to work things out with Martha, but I can't. I'm part of the Heathers now, which means that my loyalty needs to switch slightly for the time being. That, and I would rather not have Duke breathing down my neck any longer than she has to be.

"How very." I mumble to myself, already dreading what may happen when I follow Duke to the Heather's designated lunch table. "Bye." I tell Martha quickly, before turning and catching up to Duke, who's exasperation with me is always so apparent. Despite knowing that I could be walking into a multitude of situations that won't play out in my favor, I can't help but relish in the satisfaction of walking with one of the most envied girls in school to the most envied table in school, especially after being on the other side of the barrier that separates the popular kids and everyone else. Not many of us have ever been able to conquer that wall, seeing as once you find a place in the social setting, you're almost guaranteed to be locked in, except in my case, in which I've been able to climb the stairs to what's viewed as paradise in high school. When we finally arrive at the table, Chandler is already there, waiting for us, with McNamara. I would never have thought that I'd see the day where Heather Chandler is waiting for _me._ She stands when we approach, her seemingly sweet smile plastered across her face, an obvious sign she wants something. I'll admit it, being with the Heathers wasn't quite all I thought it would be, seeing as whenever Chandler and Duke are around, it feels as though you're in the water with sharks; you're helpless and in their domain and they're powerful and poised to strike at any moment.

"Veronica! I need a forgery in Ram Sweeney's handwriting." I nod slightly, trying to refrain from taking a step back from her. They may have pulled me up from the bottom, but I know that with the slightest misstep, they'll throw me back into the mud and where I came from.

"She needs something to write on," Duke says, her lip curling with a cruel smile as she turns to McNamara. "Heather, bend over." The sick feeling that was settling in my stomach while I was talking with Martha returns as McNamara simply stands up and bends over as though it's nothing. I hate the idea of using her as a table, but with a quick glance at Duke and Chandler's expectant faces, I push it all aside, pull out a small notepad, and go over to McNamara to start writing as I recall Ram's messy handwriting.

"Hello Beautiful," Chandler begins, amusement lightening her tone as she conjures up what needs to be written. I oblige, transferring her words to the paper in the linebacker's writing. "I've been watching you, and thinking about us in the old days. I hope you can come to my homecoming party this weekend. Miss you, Ram." She finishes, letting out a satisfied laugh.

"Put an 'XO' after the signature." Duke chimes in, laughing along with her. I do as they say, purposely misspelling a couple of the words that Ram's mind may not be able to comprehend as if he were actually writing this note, curiosity of who this mystery note will be heading to filling my mind. This is no doubt another cruel joke they'll be playing on someone. That seems to be how they use my knack for forgeries the most, whether it's to exploit someone's secrets, or lead an unsuspecting victim on, as long as they can get a laugh and it's at someone else's expense. Except for McNamara, of course, who's still bent over in front of me. Guilt settles uncomfortably over me, as it has been recently. I back up, letting her stand up again. I try to express my apologies to her with a quick look, but her eyes seem to be either glued to the floor, or flitting nervously to Duke and Chandler. At this moment, I notice how inwardly she stands, drawing her shoulders close her and keeping her feet turned in, as though trying not to draw any more attention to herself. It all reminds of myself, that is, before I got the three of them out of detention that day, making them take an interest in me. Trying to get that thought out of my mind, which is already swirling from my previous encounter with Martha, I turn to Duke and Chandler, tearing the piece of paper with the writing from the notepad.

"Who is this for, anyway?" I ask as I fold up the note.

"I just found out Ram used to hang out with _Martha Dumptruck."_ Chandler responds, with enthusiastic disgust, flipping her hair over her shoulder. I can feel myself grow rigid, nervous for what that means for the note I had just composed, but I try to keep up an easy smile.

"Yeah, in kindergarten, we all did." I tell her as I pass the note over, letting myself remember some of the easier times of the true paradise that was elementary school.

"We all didn't _kiss_ on the kickball field." Duke snaps, with a mean chuckle, crossing her arms and nudging McNamara slightly, as if trying to spur her into saying something. She stumbles slightly, but fixes herself and giggles a little.

"Oh, that's right! I remember… Ram kissed Martha Dumptruck! It was disgusting!" She says, wrinkling her nose slightly, letting a small smile tug at her lips. I'm trying to take all of this in and figure out how to process it, considering Martha was my best friend, and the last thing I want is for her to be getting hurt anymore than she already has. But I know that if I bring that up, that's only going to get me into trouble with the Heathers, so instead I try to busy myself with my school supplies, hoping that whatever Duke and Chandler are up to isn't too horrible.

"Ram!" Chandler calls, holding up the note and flashing a gorgeous smile in the direction of the linebacker. He comes over almost immediately, Kurt trailing behind him. Heather rests a hand on his chest, her flirtation obnoxiously obvious to me, but of course it goes right over Ram's head. "Be a sweetie and give this note to Martha Dumptruck for me…." I knew it, I knew that this is what they would be up too. And as much as I'd like to, I can't stay silent knowing how much this note, the note that I've written will hurt her.

"What? No!" I say, hearing how shaky my own voice sounds as I try to get Heathers' attention. I can't let Ram give Martha the note, it would be the cruelest thing to ever come an innocent Martha's way. But she ignores me, carrying on her conversation with Ram, neither of them giving me even the slightest indication of my distress.

"Since when do you talk to that lard-ass?" He asks, followed by a dumb laugh as he begins walking away with Kurt, the two of them jostling each other trying to open the note. Conflicting emotions strike my body, because if he reads the note, knowing that he didn't write it, there's no doubt he'll be angry and take it out on the poor soul that dared to write such an embarrassing note in his handwriting, that poor soul being me. After being graced with a blissful period of relative peace, it would be torture to be put back down where I was by the likes of Ram Sweeney. However, if he doesn't open the note and just passes it off to Martha, I'd be in the clear, yes, but getting a note like that would hurt her so badly. I remember all of the times she would talk about Ram to me, ever since kindergarten when she was convinced they were perfect for each other and would end up married someday. The poor girl still hasn't grown up yet.

Chandler must notice them fighting over the scrap of paper because she quickly calls them back over. "Don't open that!" She snaps. Her beautiful brain must be able to work double time, seeing as she can spit lies out as fast as I can write them. "She's having an extra heavy flow and wanted advice from my gyno…." She adds in a chuckle as Ram and Kurt's noses wrinkle in disgust. "Unless you want all the bloody details, I suggest you motor on over to where she's sitting." Once they leave, she grins proudly and crosses her arms, not even bothering trying to hide the satisfaction of her latest practical joke. She may be grinning, but as Ram makes his way to slip the note to Martha, I feel as though I may throw up. Maybe it will cost me my time with the Heathers, but after seeing Martha earlier and talking to her again, realizing how horrible I've been, it's a risk I'm willing to take. I summon any ounce of courage I posses to get Heather's attention.

"Please don't do this, okay? I mean, not to Martha…" I trail off immediately as she begins to glare down at me. _Nice, Veronica. You've screwed up your chance of popularity for someone who has done nothing but drag you down._ I shift uncomfortably at the audacity of my own mind. Martha was my best friend, and the least I can do now after being such a bitch towards her is try to stop what's coming for her.

"What?" Duke groans. "It'll give her shower nozzle masturbation material for weeks!" She says, followed by snide laughter. Chandler quickly stops that thought cycle with a sharp,

"Shut up, Heather!" All of this feels as though it's happening a world away, my thoughts swirling around one central idea: Martha cannot get that that note. I just need Heather to realize that. Hoping that she may have some compassion and sense, I try to plead again.

"Martha has had a thing for Ram for _twelve years_ , now… This-this would kill her…" I trail off again, realizing just now how stupid I am as the weight of the world seems to crash onto me. Martha has always confided in me, so of course I've heard all about her fantasies about him, and now I've betrayed her trust and let the most popular, most dangerous girls in school know her deepest secret and desire. Who knows what they'll do now, seeing as there's practically no way to deny it at this point. _I'm so sorry, Martha_. I apologize, even though I know that it won't do shit for what may happen to her. Heather narrows her eyes at me, her expression impossible to read as she strides up to me, causing me to stumble backwards a little, afraid of what she may do after my outburst.

"Are we gonna have a problem?" She whispers, leaning close to me, so close that her rose scented perfume bombards my senses. Her arms fold over her chest as her eyebrows raise, just her glance alone is enough to force me into myself, ripping away any confidence I might have gathered. After all, she was the one that gave me that confidence, the crutch I've been leaning on to hold me up and stand with them. But now, the crutch has been kicked away, leaving me desperately grasping for anything to keep me supported. I force myself to look up into her eyes of hardened amber, understanding now how a deer might feel looking into the headlights of a car on a dark road, bringing their imminent death. "You have some kind of bone to pick with me?" Her fingers delicately brush over the jeweled broach on my chest. "You've come so far, raised from nothing. You were a _nobody_ , Veronica. You were making so much progress. So why now are you being difficult? We want to have some fun with your old 'friend' and suddenly you're acting like we're demonesses?"

She scoffs and backs away a few steps. "Why must you pull my dick, Veronica?" I try to speak, to her any words out to hopelessly try to protect myself and my new fragile place in the Heathers' kingdom, but I stay silent, hoping that the end of this hell is near. God, why can't I have just keep my mouth shut and let them do what they want? My interference only harms me, dragging me back closer and closer to the harsh bottom I crawled to them from. Taking advantage of my lack of words, Heather continues on her lecture as though I'm a temperamental toddler that needs to be reprimanded. "You know, if something like this were to arise, I'd normally just slap your face right off!" She tells me, flashing a sickly sweet smile in my direction. I try to step back from her, I don't have any idea what she's going to do to me, and I'm terrified to find out, but I back up right into Heather Duke, who just grabs my arm in an iron grip and holds me there, preventing any chance of escape. "But I,m feeling rather nice today…" Chandler drawls, stepping closer to me, Fire igniting behind her eyes, as though I'm helpless prey that she's closing in on. "So listen up, _bitch."_

I flinch despite my best attempts, eliciting a smirk from Chandler as she steps over closer to me, each click of her heels against the tiled floor bringing my imminent fall from grace. "You have hobbies, don't you, Veronica? I mean, everyone has things they like to do…" She croons, her words dripping with a sickly sweet from her red lips. I don't dare move or respond, not with Duke's nails digging into my arms, as if daring me to even try. "I myself have my own interests," She continues, completely unfazed by any distress I may be projecting, tossing her long waves of red behind her shoulder. "I like looking hot, which is so easy, and so much fun… And of course I love shopping… Buying everything everyone wishes they had…" I have no idea where any of this is going, her expression impossible to read aside from obvious amusement. However, a cruel light glints in her eyes, sending shivers down my body. "What about you, Heather?" And just like that, I'm released from Duke's grip and stumble forward, almost right into Chandler as I rub my sore arms. Afraid to leave my back to Duke, I turn quickly to face her, towering over me with an evil sneer, her words sharp and concise.

"Well, Heather, I've always been a fan of drinking, as much and as hard as I can… And of course maxing my dad's credit card at that…" She responds, her icy stare narrowed at me the entire time, making me wish more than anything to just be able to disappear and forget about these vile girls that make my stomach clench and churn. I shut my eyes tightly for a moment, then try to focus on a single spot on the floor, just waiting for them to get to whatever point they're trying to draw out and torture me with.

"What about skipping whatever classes you want? I skip gym almost every day!" Chandler lets out a lighthearted laugh, as if truancy isn't something to fear. She sighs contently. "It's great having everyone wrapped around my little finger. With one look, people are simultaneously terrified and enchanted. You see Veronica, when you have power, you can bend people to your will. And it doesn't always have to be bad….It's just more fun that way!" She places her hands on my shoulders and points to someone standing to the side of the cafeteria, his nose in a book, tense, trying hard to disappear. I recognize that type of stance all too well, seeing as if I weren't where I am now, caught in the Heathers' iron grip, I would be doing the exact same thing, only with Martha. Martha. A small pang of guilt goes through my chest as I realize I had forgotten about her in my terror of standing up to the head bitches in school. Once again, I'm caught like a helpless mouse in the trap Heather had set for me, escape at this point being impossible as I try to contain the shaking of my hands. An uncomfortable weight settles in the bottom of my stomach as I realize I'm never getting away from the Heathers, because I'm so stubbornly obsessed with the prospect of being on top, and what a wonderful feeling it is, knowing that I no longer need to be cowering to the side, with all the bottom feeders in this hellhole of a high school.

"You see him over there? He'd screw me in a heartbeat…." Chandler looks me in the eyes. With a stern voice, she gives me a warning that sends my knees wobbling. "We don't associate with people like that though. And if you continue to defy us, you'll get kicked right back down with the other nerds. Got it?" Meeting her fierce amber eyes proved to be harder than I thought, but I swallow down my guilt, fear, anxiety, and anything else holding me back from reigning over the school with the Heathers. I have a second chance now, to keep myself with their good graces, and I can't let it go to waste. It feels as though I'm back in the bathroom from weeks ago when I was presented with the chance of my lifetime in high school. And just then, I can't deny the deep desire within me to stay at the top with them, especially after dangling dangerously over the ledge, about to fall back to where I had been for so long. Not trusting myself to speak, I let my gaze drift down to floor, ignoring the guilt threatening to pull me down, and simply nod.

A smirk spreads across Chandler's pretty face, so gorgeous, yet so cruel and mean. I pity whoever falls prey to her and Duke's wrath next, though something in my gut says that it may be me. "Good. Welcome to my candy store, Veronica."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

 _ **Veronica's POV**_

I'm finally able to tear myself away from the Heathers, their cruel games and sharp words. While they're all chattering away about the newest gossip at school; Who's sleeping with who, who's broken up, and who's cheating on someone, I slip away to have some time to myself and think without their obnoxious remarks circling around my brain. I highly doubt they'll even notice I'm gone, and after the note incident with Martha, I need a little time away from them. As I walk through the cafeteria, not even sure where I'm going, just alway from those toxic girls, I catch a glimpse of Martha. She's reading and rereading the note over, the biggest smile I've seen in a while lighting up her entire face. It would make me so happy and excited typically to see her genuinely filled with joy, but I know that note is nothing but a device to tear her down. I look down at the floor, not able to take any more of it, knowing I'm the reason there's a note for her to read in the first place.

Though I'm still with the Heathers officially, right now I feel as though I'm at rock bottom again, not even trying to pick myself up, because I know at this point, whatever comes my way, I deserve it. "You shouldn't have bowed down to the swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads, they're going to crush that girl." A disembodied voice speaks from somewhere behind me, one that I've never heard before. I turn quickly, and find myself in front of someone I've never seen walking the halls during my years at Westerburg. His thin frame is draped with a long black trench coat, which would seem like a way to try and blend in, to stay invisible, except that in a high school, you need to look exactly like everyone else in order to do that. Which is definitely false for the kid standing in front of me. I have to tilt my head up in order to actually see his face, seeing as he is considerably taller than me. Stormy gray eyes meet mine, and I can't help but inhale sharply at his intimidating gaze. His black hair hangs in his face, casting a shadow across his sharp features and pale skin. Something about him just seems different, and from just looking at him, I can already tell he's nothing like anyone else at the school. So he may be new; typically when there's a new kid, they get sucked into some group at some rank in the hierarchy, and their spot is settled for the rest of their time here. But I can't tell where he stands as of now. Obviously not with the jocks and they're cookie cutter molds of brawny idiots who can barely form a sentence without taking at least an hour to "think." That, and there's a book tucked under his arm, which no one remotely popular would be caught dead with, unless they were going to burn it. But, he doesn't seem like one of the "nerds" either, who duck through the halls, terrified of everyone. _Who are you?_ But of course I can't just ask that, so instead I just take a step back and cross my arms, and ask an even more idiotic question.

"I'm sorry, what?" He seems amused at my inability to comprehend what he was telling me, though It's not infuriating. He looks me over, expression impossible to read, which causes to me shift awkwardly, curious as to what he's thinking.

"Clearly, you've got a soul," He tells me, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "You've Just got to work harder on keeping it clean. We are all born marked for evil." And leaving me with that fun tidbit, he turns on his heels and starts walking away. But he's not getting away that easily after dropping philosophical shit on me, especially given that it can only be referring to my ongoing dilemma with the Heathers.

"Um, okay… Don't just Baudelaire quote me and walk away, excuse me." I ramble, catching onto his sleeve for a moment. He looks down at my hand and back at me, as though I'm insane for trying to touch him. I get the obvious message and let my hand drop to my side, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise in my cheeks and my heart beginning to pick up speed. _Why am I still trying to talk to him?_ "I didn't catch your name…"

"I didn't throw it." He responds with a smirk, walking away from me again, nodding to himself, as though pleased with his response as he reopens his book. This time I don't follow after him. _Damn, that kid…_ As I watch him weave through the crowded cafeteria, nose in his book, not even glancing up to notice the sideways looks and glares being sent his way, it's as though my heart skips a beat. _No, Veronica…. You've sworn off high school boys for a reason…_ But I can't seem to tear my eyes away from this new kid as heat rises to my cheeks. None other than Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney enter my line of vision, strutting right over to the new kid, who still seems too engrossed in his reading to notice. My curiosity piqued, I slip around the tables and chairs to get closer, needing to know what they're saying. Is this it? Is the mysterious new boy going to get beat to a pulp before I can even learn his name? Destined to sulk at the bottom of the food chain as I watch from the top? Kurt throws his arm around him roughly, making his head snap up quickly to see who dares to interrupt. Even from my post a table away from the scene, i Can see the tension in his posture as Kurt begins to drawl.

"Hey, Sweetheart! What'd your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Sherwood, Ohio?!" I cringe slightly in empathy for this new kid. It was only a matter of time, really before he was targeted by the biggest assholes in school who, ironically, have the smallest brains. Ram laughs dumbly as the new kid ignores Kurt.

"My Buddy Kurt here just asked you a question," he adds, ruffling the black hair belonging to the boy in the black coat. Anyone else in this school would be falling to their knees to beg the jocks to have mercy on them, shaking like a frightened child. But not this new kid, in fact he stands as still and rigid as a statue, a small smirk appearing on his face, making me wonder what he must have up the sleeve of his trenchcoat. Kurt and Ram continue their banter, most likely feeling quite proud of themselves for taking the initiative to introduce this mysterious stranger to the hellhole which is Westerburg High. What better way to get to a new school and have obnoxious dicks taunt you?

"Hey, Ram, doesn't the cafeteria have a no fags allowed policy?" At last the boy must exhaust from their teasing because he slams his book closed. With a certain coolness that simultaneously chills me to bone, and sends a rush of heat through my body, he responds with,

"It seems to have an open-door policy for assholes, though…." I inhale sharply, suddenly scared for the new kid's safety after so blatantly and openly insulting none other than Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney, as my mind begins racing with possibilities of what events may unfold next. Based on the expressions of twisted rage on Kurt and Rams faces, it will be nothing good.

"Hold his arm!" It all seems to happen in slow motion; a montage of Kurt lunging towards the new kid, only to have a book come up right into his face, causing him to fall backwards, possibly out of just the sheer shock that someone is for once fighting back against he and Ram's torments, Ram watching in shock only to have his face met with the new kids voice, and of course a murmur of "holy shit" behind me as the entire cafeteria comes to the realization that Kurt and Ram are the ones getting beat up after so many years of being feared and people hiding from them in the halls for that very reason. It feels as though time itself has slowed around me and come to a standstill, as I focus on just the new kid, who's like no one I've ever seen in my long years at Westerburg.

In the back of my mind, I know that I shouldn't be watching this, boys fighting like horrible animals, yet at the same time of it looking so wrong, it just feels right. Like there's some type of natural order being restored watching them duke it out in the middle of the cafeteria. It takes far too much effort than I care to admit, but I tear my eyes away from the crap unfolding in front of me, and try to hone in on a single captivating spot on the floor. I've never been one to watch fights, find enjoyment in people hurting each other what's typically an extremely stupid reason, it's simply not who I am. But there's something about this particular fight that keeps drawing my eyes away from the speckled tile and back to the three boys, particularly the one with a stone cold expression clothed in a black trench coat. And he is that something, this damn Mr. No-Name-Kid who's completely shaken my entire foundation with one bare-bone conversation, and a fight with the head jocks of our school.

Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I weave through the growing crowd in an almost dream-like state, my footsteps feeling lighter, as though the weight of my new reputation and entire person simply don't exist anymore. All the while, my eyes are still glued to the boy whose name I don't even know. As punches continue to be thrown and the jeers from the crowd raise in volume, I imagine the whole cafeteria melting away to where it's just him and I. Could there ever be a time where each punch or kick battering Kurt and Ram could be for my sake? Do I dare to imagine someone being so invested in just me, that they would actually get into a full blown fight on my behalf? My fantasy ripples away as the crowd presses closer, so I just close my eyes tightly and instead it's him who's here right next to me, fingers tightly laced with mine, and replacing his stoic expression from before, one of pride from simply just being seen with me. I know that it's a stretch considering a short month ago I was a complete nobody, just another faceless silhouette in the hallways, but since I've been adopted into the most powerful clique in school, maybe someone, maybe even the the new kid with a magnetic force on me and my emotions, could entertain the idea. Is it so bad to want that? Though I wouldn't blame him for not wanting that, after all, why waste time on someone like me when there are girls like the Heathers, the ones that every boy wants to get with at some point. But I still find myself hoping for someone that's proud of me, that won't hesitate to fight, someone that will carry me through all of the no-man-lands that plague high school and life beyond. And it's fine, though, if no one will agree to be that part of my life, if he doesn't, but I know that I wouldn't hesitate for a second to fight for him, if he'll do the same for me.

But we live in the crazy world known as high school where things like this can sink and sail in a matter of days, so why do I want to get myself into this? Why am I even fantasizing over something that may never even happen, or could bring me pain? Does that make me crazy? Just as I think I may be giving up on my foolish daydream, reality sets back in, and I'm drawn to him again. Kurt and Ram are crumpled over each other, clutching themselves from where they've been punched, but the new kid seems almost entirely unfazed as he simply picks up his book and places his hands in the pockets of his jacket. I never would have bet on someone lasting so long, much less winning a fight against Kurt and Ram, who I'm almost positive have never lost a fight like this for as long as Westerburg can remember. His eyes catch mine for what feels like less than a minute before he turns away again, but it's long enough for me to feel a pleasant lurch in my stomach. Try as I might, I know that I won't be able to give up on this new kid and the magnet that seems to draw me towards him.

There's something else, though. Something new has come to Westerburg, that's not just a student. There's a new and unfamiliar feeling to the buzz that fills the air as we all shuffle back to our seats, and I know I can't be the only one that can't help but feel slightly unsettled by it. Those feelings, though, are overridden the tingling sensation as my eyes fall once again on the mysterious stranger. There's so much I want and need to know about him as my curiosity begins to take over. But now isn't the time, not with the far-reaching gazes of the Heathers I can feel trained on me now. This must be how an ant feels when you look at it under a magnifying glass; there's nothing I can do without them seeing. And so, my endeavours to find out who this kid might be are placed on hold for now, as I shuffle back over to the Heathers, keeping my head down, because I know I have nowhere else to go. But as they babble on in a language that seems foreign, about matters that seem incredibly far away, I find myself sneaking glances at the tall boy in all black sitting at the back table, yet seeming so close. And I can't stop myself from going back to my childlike fantasy that one day, this kid may fight for me.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: ...hi. So I know it's been a year since this has been touched, but my best friend that I'm writing this with brought up the there's over 800 views on this, and that's genuinely mind-boggling. Like I can't thank everyone enough! So, I forced myself out of the really intense writing slump I had been going through, and tried to crank this out. Keep in mind, it's been a little over a year since I've seriously written anything, so I deeply apologize if this chapter isn't the best, but thank you for understanding and reading anyways! Hope you enjoy, and we'd love it if you dropped a comment, it really inspires us to keep this up!**

Chapter 4:

 _ **Veronica POV:**_

The incident from the cafeteria stays lodged at the front of my mind all day, blocking out anything remotely useful, leaving me navigating through the remaining class periods in a daze, slipping into daydreams more often than not. It's so frustratingly tempting to go off in your own world where you're not defined by three girls with the same fucking nam, where you're entire reputation and high school expeirenced can go from spectacular to hell, or the other way around, based on the opinions of a bunch of Diet Coke heads. Everything seems to have shifted after talking to that strange and frankly unusual kid with the long black trench coat and deeply intriguing eyes, it's as though the priorities I had before have taken a leave of absence, letting this guy worm his way into my head. Even all thoughts regarding the Heathers, which once took the highest podium in my mind have dulled in luster and into radio static compared to a kid I don't even know the name of. Call me delusional, but there was something there when you looked into his eyes, something you can't quite place, but you want to, that's the point. You want to know what makes him look at the world like that, why he carries himself the way he does. Trying to funnel all of this is out of my head seems more impossible each hour I sit at my desk, tuning out the teacher droning on about mundane things, my pen hovering right over the pages of my worn diary, but words fail me in trying to describe the intense interest, and I'd be lying if I didn't say infatuation, regarding the No-Name Kid that's come to Westerburg.

This continues on every period through the end of the day until I end up in the backyard of my home, leaning against a blue croquet mallet, watching the multicolored balls rolling along the uniform grass. I find myself wondering if the mystery kid from earlier would stand out here and play croquet. I'd like to think that maybe one of these I'd be able to find out. _You swore of high school boys for a reason Veronica, get a fucking grip._ God, you'd think I was back in middle school the way I'm daydreaming over a boy I exchanged barely five sentences with earlier today. Just as I start formulating dozens of ways in which I could go about approaching him and extending the absolutely ridiculous invitation- seeing him smirk slightly yet look at me with amusement and possibly adoration as he pretends to seem uninterested yet accepts anyways, leaving me to question how the hell that's even possible and where to go from there aside just standing staring up at him trying to memorize each line of his face like some lovesick imbecile- a sharp jab to my side from a green clad elbow jolts me away from my thoughts. In an instant, I find myself shrinking back into myself, as though with a single glimpse at cold eyes all the warmth blooming in my chest is leached away and I realize I've let my heart lead my imagination and on mind with a far-fetched fleeting fantasy rapidly slipping away under Duke's piercing judgemental look. She motions wordlessly for me to follow her as she walks to the remaining Heathers and the four of us fall into a uniform line formation that I've found myself ingrained into over the past month, mallets over our shoulders, walking along the grass with confidence I usually can never muster, even at my own home. It's all a bullshit act, I know, but it feels good, even with no one around to be a part of something as powerful as the clique with the most popular girls in school. There's a silence falling over us, the tension seems abundantly clear to me, but the girls around me continue on as if there's not a care in the world. They're not engaging in anything, so it's obviously not my place to do anything different. If I were to turn and bring my gaze to Chandler's, I'd be able to see the sly grin creeping along her face as she breaks the quiet. "God, Veronica… drool much?" Sarcasm drips from her words and into my mind as my immediate first thoughts jump from "what the hell is she talking about," to theories of what she is talking about, to settling onto what I've gathered my mind has deemed the object of my affection, praying to whatever god is out there that he isn't what she's talking about. The last thing I need is for Heather to get involved with my recent infatuation. "You were totally throwing your panties at that new kid." _Shit._ And just like that, I feel the heat rush to my cheeks and I can only imagine I've gone as red as my hair, my face now betraying any chance I have at denying her accusation. All I can do as McNamera and Duke's forced laughter fills the space is stare up at Chandler's face, her expression one of sickly sweet taunting, just showing how she wants to take her candy coated vinegar comments and let them seep under everyone's skin. It may seem harmless, but there's an underlying venom to everything she says that commands everyone's attention and dictates exactly what they feel. Damn, what a power to have. See, I know if I try to say something, it'll only result in more embarrassment and ammo for her to use against me. So she just continues to stride ahead of us, turning with a slight laugh. "And judging by your house, you can't afford replacement panties." The air is silent again as I find myself staring at my shoes, helplessly able to fight back against her. Glancing up a little, I see a pointed glare at Duke and McNamera, leading to another bout of forced, respectively pissed and uncomfortable laughter.

"Come on, I… I don't even know his name…" I manage to stammer, lifting my head, only to see Chandler scoff and dismiss me as quickly as she would the sound of a bug being crushed under the heel of her shoe, as she bends over and meets the croquet ball and her mallet with a sharp crack. It goes spiraling across the yard to under the table my parents have been sitting at, minding their own business, oblivious to the conversation unfolding.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, watch out!" Heather calls, smiling sweetly as she walks over to the two of them, leaving us to straggle behind her as I pull myself back together from her passively scathing remarks that to her seem perfectly obvious and harmless. I silently wish to myself that my parents would just tune out Heather speaking to them and carry along without a care before anything else comes out of her mouth. Don't get me wrong, I never would have been able fathom ever having the Heathers of all people join me of all people, willing for a game of croquet. After all, the only person I've ever had back here was Martha, and that alone should give you an idea of my sparkling social life before my sudden and newfound popularity. However, having to excuse whatever may end up coming from Chandler's perfectly glossed mouth to my parents would be way more trouble than it's worth. Much to my dismay, instead of simply following my silent instructions, my mother decides it's best to stand up with the croquet ball and a plate and come to us.

"There you go girls! Care for some pate?" She asks, holding the plate out to Heather with a genuine and hopeful smile. Christ, Heather would rip my mother apart given the chance. I know that I should say something, anything, but low and behold all I can do is keep my head low and stay quiet along with the remaining Heathers. With a quick glance I can see McNamera, her delicate face scrunched up uncomfortably, and I can tell she enjoys this no more than I do.

"That's not pate, it's liverwurst." Chandler drones on, looking frankly appalled at my mother for even offering something like that. This is all a massive trainwreck, and I know it's my fault for bringing the Heathers over in the first place, but what else was I supposed to do? I've been completely zoned out and unresponsive all day, which is no way to treat the people I owe every glance I get in the hallway now. Hell, without them, I doubt the Baudelaire-quoting kid from earlier who's occupied the majority of my thoughts would've even spoken to me. I hear my mother let out a forced laugh, not unlike the ones from Duke and McNamera earlier.

"I'm aware of that, Heather… It's a family joke…" Of course it is, but what I wouldn't give to sew Heather's mouth shut and spare us all from this tension.

"Oh… Funny." She responds, flipping her coppery hair over her shoulder. Before I can stop myself, I start walking over to Heather and my mother, ready to say something, what is that something? It's beyond me. But fortunately, I'm interrupted before I even start speaking by my dad.

"Dammit! Will somebody please tell me why I read these spy novels?" I can't help myself in smiling a little as I respond without missing a beat.

"Oh, because you're an idiot, Dad."

"Oh yeah… That's it." And with that one by one starting with my dad and then going to me and my mother, we all dissolve into laughter. I love my idiot dad and my mother's liverwurst she always claims is pate, even though we all know it's a shit excuse for anything close to a dish like that, but hell, it makes us laugh, and it feels like I haven't been allowed to do that much these days. At least not genuinely.

"So girls, any big plans for tonight?" My mother asks, reining in her laughter. It's nice after the encounter with Heather to see her smile, it eases my mind that I was simply overreacting and maybe Heather really isn't as scathing towards everyone as she is with us. After all, she told me she teaches people how to fly, and who am I to question somebody like that who scraped me from rock bottom and molded me into something that once seemed like nothing but a daydream? I find myself relaxing slightly, but I keep glancing up at Heather's uninterested face, finding myself waiting for some sort of explosion that thankfully never seems to come.

"Yeah! There's a big homecoming party at Ram Sweeny's house so I'm gonna catch a ride with Heather." Mark that down in the book as a sentence I, Veronica Sawyer, never thought I'd be able to say. In my extensive four years of high school, I have never actually attended a party, and definitely nothing remotely close to what goes down at the meathead gatherings with everyone not at the bottom feeder level of the school hierarchy. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little excited. But then again, I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't scared out of my mind either for what's to come.

"Speaking of which…" Heather huffs, giving the pate one more pointed look of disgust as she strides away, McNamera and Duke following at her heels like trained dogs. I shuffle awkwardly, knowing that I need to catch up with them, but leaving my mother in the dirt just feels wrong.

"Okay…" I mumble quietly. I offer a smile to my mother, hoping she understands my silent apology. "Great pate Mom, but I got to motor if we want to be ready for the party…" She rests her hand on my shoulder, speaking through a clenched smile.

"Don't let those popular girls change you…" They already have, isn't that the point? I got new clothes, a whole new look that actually will turn a head in the hallways and get me noticed in a way I've been yearning for for years. Sure, Heather's a bitch, but without her, I'd be sitting alone tonight in my bed, writing nonsense in my diary about how it's my senior year and all I've done is sit on my ass like every year. They say that these are the best years of your life, and thanks to the Heathers, it finally really feels like it.

"I need them…" I find myself saying. It's true, isn't it? They're the only things keeping me afloat at school anymore, and the only thing worse than living it up at the bottom of it all, is tumbling back down to where you began after the intoxicating taste of what it was like up on top with everyone.

"What for? You have other friends." She continues in the same demeanor. "You have Martha." Correction, I _had_ Martha. After the note incident, I don't think she should ever give me the luxury of being her friend. But I've tried to come to terms with the fact that with the change the Heather's brought came cutting some losses too. Unfortunately for me, that meant Martha, but she said it herself, it's exciting being with the Heathers and she doesn't blame me. Still, it doesn't stop the guilt gnawing at my insides at the mention of Martha. Honestly, I think the poor girl may be better off without me. Maybe I do miss our nights in front to the TV with Jiffy Pop, genuinely laughing at dumb movies, but loving every moment of the film, complete with the happy ending Martha wanted, but that's not how the world works. I can't sit there forever and just pretend that dragging my ass to school everyday only to be overlooked with the exception of bullying is how I want to be living my life. Is it really so bad to want to be noticed by people, to not have to duck between bodies in the hall, but instead be able to walk with the biggest dogs on campus that can clear a path with a look? And that means I have to make the proper sacrifices, whether that's nights with Martha or indulging myself in stupid inside family jokes. I don't want to just be pretending, barely passing myself off like my family does with pate, I want to enjoy what the Heathers have given me thanks to some miracle I'll never understand.

"Maybe I want more out of life than liverwurst, Mom…" With that, I turn on my heel to follow the path of the Heathers to find them waiting not so patiently in the car, as I try to ignore the smile falling from my mother's face and disappointment shining in her eyes.

After ten minutes of trying to tune out dizzying speech from three different sources all regarding lip gloss colors or who slept with who over the course of the past week, we pull up not to what I had assumed would be Ram's house, but a 7/11 instead. Duke reaches behind to where I'm sitting and plucks the makeup bag from my lap, bringing me back to reality, only to see Chandler staring at me expectantly. "Veronica, go inside and grab some Corn Nuts. It's not a party without the Corn Nuts." She orders me simply, flipping open her golden rimmed hand mirror and reapplying her signature red lipstick, leaving me to shuffle awkwardly from the backseat of the car.

"BQ or plain?" I have the thought to ask before completely shutting the door. Heather huffs in annoyance, rolling her eyes as though it should be painfully obvious, not bothering to even give me a glance.

"BQ!" Nodding quickly, I close the door and walk inside the brightly lit convenience store, making a beeline to the small bags hanging along the aisles. _She never actually told me how much to get… Is it just for the four of us? For her? Is she trying to feed the entire party? Fuck this..._ Goddamn, I should've asked more questions before coming in here. I finally resolve to grab two bags, knowing that the longer I take in here, the more agitated Heather gets, meaning hell for me. But just as I stand, I hear a voice behind me that had been bouncing around my head the entire day, making it entirely impossible to focus on anything else. I stop dead in my tracks as warmth rushes to my face, afraid to turn around and be disappointed if it all turns out to be in my head.

"Greetings and salutations. You want a Slurpee with that?"


End file.
